Lion Lounge
by Kinetix
Summary: In 1946 promises of a whirlwind life of luxury drew her to New York, she longed for fame, what she found was a nightmare. The Lion Lounge was her home now, and in it's darkness she fights to survive. Will she be saved or will the Lions consume her? (AU) Rated M for future content.
1. Black Coffee

1946, New York City, the Big Apple. She'd dreamed about the day she would get here, thoughts of being an of flashing lights and grand affairs pervaded every ideal perspective she could remember. As a small-town girl from Pennsylvania she idealized New York City, prayed for it. Every breath she took grew tighter in her chest with the yearning ache to get out, and make her fantasies a reality. Her mother always told her to get her head out of the clouds, her father on the other hand; with what money he could spare he would take her to the pictures, bring her newspapers with scandalous headlines, he told her that if she worked hard she would get there one day. But one day was not soon enough for Sansa Stark.

Days after her 15th birthday she snuck onto a train bound for the City. She left separate notes, one for her mother explaining her desire to mend their broken relationship one day, one to her father thanking him and promising to bring him to live with her one day, and one to her siblings telling them of her love for them. With only a simple suitcase and $20 in her pocket she made her way through the bustling sidewalks, frightened at first, but as the days passed and melted into weeks eventually the crowds no longer scared her. And as the glamour of the city began to wane so did Sansa's money, the small odd jobs she'd been able to find barely putting food in her stomach at the end of each day.

Finally she got a job in a diner; it was just down the street from a number of nightclubs, though from the outside they paraded as smoking lounges. Alcohol flowed freely at night, and as the drinks poured so did the money from pockets of the rich and famous patrons. Sansa would watch them hailing taxis, laughing wildly as if they hadn't a care in the world, envying the beautiful women with painted faces and perfectly pinned hair in silk dresses. In her itchy blue cotton uniform, she felt drab and degraded at first. Now she simply sighs as they pass, occasionally coming in for a late night cup of coffee or even simple meal before partaking in the pleasures of the district.

Two years have come and pass, at 17 approaching 18 quickly Sansa is no longer the wide-eyed simpleton she'd came to the city as. Working and fighting for every scrap of food, every piece of clothing on her back, the small but secure apartment she resides in. The comfort of the diner is slight, but she works alone at night save for the cook Loras, his conversation is pleasant and he is one of the few men to not make advances on her.

Friendless, struggling to survive, and still the spark remains in Sansa's heart. Each night she would look at herself in the mirror above her vanity, no longer did she see a gangly girl with baby face and unkempt features. She grew relatively tall for a woman, but still willowy thin with the barest hint of a bosom and curve in her hips. Her face sharpened around her large ocean blue eyes and full lips, jaw squaring slightly and leading to auburn hair that fell to the center of her back in soft pin waves. The fashion magazines urged her to cut it into a bob, but Sansa couldn't part with the reminder of her mother she found in her hair. So she let it grow, cutting it only when it became unmanageable, though she did style it in the current fashion. Her skin was pale and void of marks. Sansa knew she was pretty, she could see it in the way men would eye her as she walked the streets. She heard it in their remarks as they pinched and prodded her late nights in the diner.

This night was like no other. Her block walk from the apartment to the diner was riddled with lechery from both men and women alike. Some selling goods, some trying to draw companionship, some selling themselves; she was able to arrive safely and simply gave a soft smile to Loras as she hung her simple shawl in the back before smoothing a hand over her skirt, pulling at the hem that fell just above her knee.

"Slow night?" She asked when she noted the empty restaurant.

"The Lannister's are opening a new club, I'm sure we'll have a few people before the night is out."

A curt nod and then she turned to begin making fresh coffee, more for herself than would be customers.

_I'm feelin' mighty lonesome  
Haven't slept a wink  
I walk the floor and watch the door  
And between I drink  
Black coffee  
Love's a hand-me-down brew  
I'll never know a Sunday  
In this weekday room_

Loras just smiles softly as Sansa looses herself in the soft song that begins to emanate from within her. The Lannister's were a very well off family, old money that grew more abundant with connections and speakeasies in the 20s; connections that still stood and kept their dirty dealings under wraps as the rest of the world envied their luxurious life.

_I'm talkin' to the shadow  
One o'clock 'til four  
And Lord, how slow the moments go  
And all I do is pour  
Black coffee  
Since the blues caught my eye  
I'm hangin' out on Monday  
My Sunday dreams to dry_

She closes her eyes and instead of the dingy diner Sansa is surrounded by brightly lit lights, a black grand piano plays behind her as she sways to the music in front of candle-lit tables. The stage she's on is surrounded by lush curtains, and she can taste the liquor in the air as she sings.

_Now man was born to go a lovin'  
But was a woman born to weep and fret  
And stay at home and tend her oven  
And drown her past regrets  
In coffee and cigarettes_

So lost in her thoughts Sansa doesn't hear the door open, she doesn't see the 4 men who've come in and sat themselves at the counter. They're transfixed by her, the tight uniform hugging her and sliding ever so slightly up as she sways to the rhythms of piano and muted trumpet in her head. They can only see her back, the long red hued hair cascading down to graze the top of her plump bottom as she leans her head back.

_I'm moonin' all the mornin'  
Moanin' all the night  
And in between it's nicotine  
And not much heart to fight  
Black coffee  
Feelin' low as the ground  
It's drivin' me crazy  
This waitin' for my baby  
To maybe come around  
Come around_

As the last note slips past her lips clapping erupts from behind her and Sansa jumps, turning wildly dropping the pot of old coffee she was intending to dispose of. The glass shatters on the floor but she barely notices as she stares at the men in front of her. Crisp black suits with varying undershirts and ties to match. Three of the men are sitting and one is lingering in the back near the door. Her eyes sweep over the one by the door, a titan of a man, his broad back it to her staring out the glass as if watching for someone. His hair falls to his neck in tousled waves and when he turns Sansa gasps in surprise as the right side of his face comes into view. It's horribly disfigured, burns marring from mid-cheek slightly over his eye which seems functional and into his hairline. The snarl on his face is accompanied by dark eyes narrowing at her for her outburst.

"Dog…turn away; you're scaring the poor girl!" Light laughter accompanies the voice that's called out.

Lowering her eyes Sansa sees the laughter pealing from a young beautiful man. Blonde hair coiffed and oiled to perfection, green eyes sparkling as shakes at his own joke. The men flanking him fade away and all Sansa can see is him.

"Forgive me Love…my name is Joffrey Lannister."

Her eyes widen suddenly at his name, she drops her head as if shamed to be in the presence of such nobility in comparison to her position, "Pleasure to meet you Mr. Lannister."

"What's your name?"

"Sansa…Stark. Sansa Stark."

"Well Sansa, the pleasure is all mine…." A small smirk plays at his lips as he watches a blush spread across the porcelain skin of her cheek.

"I want you to come sing for me, at my club I mean."

"Wh—what?" The sudden bluntness of him doesn't seem like an offer or a request, it's more a command.

"We've recently opened a new club, my mother and I; we're looking for a singer and well…you are a singer aren't you?"

Another blush caresses her face, "Well…yes, but…"

"Well then it's settled…isn't it? The Lion Lounge, be there at 4, my staff will dress you and prepare you."

Joffrey spoke to her as they measured her, slid her into outfit after outfit trying to find the perfect costume to present her in. His mother was allowing him management of their families newest business as a 21st birthday present and with his charms he weaved a delightful web for her. Sansa clung to his every word as they did her hair, as they rouged her cheeks and lips. The beauty him enticing her as he gently held her face and told her she was beautiful.

They put her in the finest black silk dress she'd ever seen, the tight sheath flowed to a beautiful full hem with boatneck collar that gathered just above her breasts which were pushed and trussed out for the world with the help of a well cinched corset. Her back was bared for the world as her hair was curled and pinned over her slim right shoulder.

She sang what they gave her, pouring her heart into the words as she spoke them. Cersei Lannister, the matriarch of the family fortune, watched her. Green eyes the same emerald hue as Joffrey's appraised her, broke her down and took her performance in, golden hair pinned in a bun with finger-waved bangs gave her the illusion of a halo. The thick fur wrap around her shoulders softly nuzzled against her face. Her lips pulled into a wicked grin as she watched the girl.

"She'll do nicely Joffrey, how old did you say she was?"

"17, though she says it will soon be her 18th birthday."

"A pretty young thing like that will surely draw in the masses, well done son; just try to make sure this one stays around a bit longer than Margery?"

"I will mother…Sansa isn't going anywhere."

With promises of the grandeur she longed for Sansa signed a contract. Two years, Joffrey was to be her manager, and for two years she would sing for them. The young man's charm was overwhelming, the way he would gently run his fingers over her bared arms, placing tender kisses upon her cheeks. Memories of the heroic and handsome men from the romantic pictures her father took her to pervading. Joffrey was going to be her knight in shining armor; he would be her handsome prince saving her from the perils of an ordinary life.

And that was how it started. That was how Sansa Stark came to be in the middle of the Lion's Den.


	2. You Don't Know What Love Is

**The story jumps time a bit, but I wanted to get to the bulk of the story without too much filler to set it up. Please review and let me know what you think so far!**

* * *

After six months, like the city, the illusion of Joffrey and the Lion Lounge began to crumble. The sweet façade he greeted and pulled her in with melted to reveal a very controlling and demanding man who would rather beat her for minor indiscretions than listen to reason. He never struck her face though, in fact he had a rule about avoiding the one thing about her that made her pretty in his eyes; it was always various places on her body. Sometimes a harsh pinch to her side when he thought she was being too vivacious in public or a rough grip on her thigh as he pinned her to his bed and ravished her mouth, thankfully it's never gone further than kissing and heavy petting on his part. The new prospect of the man she once idealized hovering over her, trying to press her to do more sends a tremor of disgust through her. When he presses against her at night, grazing his hand over her covered breasts she can all but contain the hatred that stems from the deepest depths of her being.

Yet she stays by his side, smiling and laughing as if the world was naught but a joke between the two of them. His bodyguards, henchmen more like, would often steal strokes against her bottom or breasts while laughing at her flustered expressions. The innocence of her and the responses they elicited only rousing their interests in testing the boundaries of their boss's newest pet and how far Joffrey would actually allow them to go.

Cersei Lannister wasn't as terribly conniving and malicious as her son, but Sansa knew it was from the cold and calculating woman that Joffrey learned his foundations. She would talk to Sansa almost like a mother, guiding her to always take pride in her appearance, teaching her that the wiles of a woman skillful enough to wield them were the most powerful weapon she had against those around her. Yet behind her seemingly sincere and caring nature Sansa saw the threat, felt the presence of danger that came with the niceties. It seemed that the only two people around her that she was able to rely on were Joffrey's uncle, a dwarf who was seemingly bastardized by his proud lineage, Tyrion Lannister often mocked Joffrey openly and encouraged her to laugh at his follies, he also seemed to genuinely enjoy the time he spent with her and kept Joffrey in check when he would lash against her. The other to oddly offer her comfort in his presence was the disfigured man that Joffrey affectionately referred to as his Dog, the rest called him Hound, but after a few weeks Sansa learned his given name to be Sandor Clegane. In his behemoth state he originally struck fear into her heart, but after months of verbal and physical abused doled out by her so called 'love' and his other two guards Sandor had yet to lay anything but the supportive hand to her. Catching her when she was thrown or more often knocked down, even dabbing blood off her lip with his pocket square one night in the privacy of Joffrey's room after he forgot his own rule to avoid her face. He towered over her and made her feel like a small child, helpless and utterly defenseless, but in his presence she knew that even Joffrey took caution.

The Hound would snarl, near bark, at everyone; except for her. When he would see her he merely grimaced and responded with grunts and nods, his eyes watching her carefully causing great unease in Sansa's stomach. His power was evident in the large muscular physique but it was more than that, it was his manner to all; as if he thought everyone in the world against him, including himself in a way. The scars on his face terrifying all that looked upon him, yet as his presence around her grew Sansa came less afraid and now when she looked at him she barely noticed his disfigurement.

Night's that she would sing he would stand behind Joffrey as the young man sat in his private booth, drinking glass after glass of champagne and liquor. She sometimes would look up to see him watching her, and she knew there was something in his eyes; but what it was remained a mystery to her.

Tomorrow is Friday, and that means that she'll be on stage once more so Sansa is preparing herself in her fitting room. Absentmindedly her hands press through dozens of silk and satins as she carefully eyes each ensemble weighing the pros and cons of the materials as she hums softly to herself. Coming across a dark navy sheath she pulls it from its hanger and walks to the full-length mirror set in the corner. Pressing the material to the front of her Sansa tilts her head and contemplates how the dress will fare against the mood of her arrangement for the evening. Movement in the mirror catches the corner of her vision and she turns abruptly, hands balling the silk of the gown as she pulls it to her chest gasping as she whirls to look upon the intruder, a quick prayer murmuring in her mind that it isn't Joffrey.

"Still not able to stomach the sight of me? Do I frighten you so much little girl?" Sandor's voice is a delighted rasp, as he smirks seemingly pleased at himself for her reaction.

"I'm sorry…." She lowers her gaze, unable to take the taunt in his voice.

"Always sorry, they've taught you well to chirp and sing as they desire. Did you jump because you saw it was me…or was it him that you thought came to call on you? You're Joffrey."

"Why—why would I jump at him…I love Joffrey."

He snorts at her feeble reply, "Stop lying, you don't know what love is! You know nothing, and you are nothing, nothing but his prize. His little bird."

"…I'm not a bird."

"Oh yes you are. You're nothing but a pretty little bird…" He advances toward her, "go on sing little bird, sing about true love and honest men….go on sing me a song the next time he beats you."

She backs away from him, her heart pounding in her chest harder and harder with every step he draws nearer to her, "You don't frighten me…."

"I should…" He snarls.

"Why are you here? Did you come just to mock me?" She demands, though the fierceness she intends is countered by the quiver in her voice, and the way she cowers against the mirror as if trying to step through it to finally escape from him, he laughs at her timidness.

"No Little Bird I didn't come here to mock you. You have a visitor."

Her face scrunches in confusion at the thought that someone would call on her here, she didn't have any friends and the only people who knew her here were those that worked around her.

"Well…do you want me to let him in or would you rather I tell him to fuck off?"

"No, no don't send them away. Just give me a minute to collect myself." She stands and turns from him, her head down as she faces the mirror.

Sandor lingers behind her for a minute, and she glances up to see his gaze hard and dark against her back. 'Why isn't he leaving?' Turning she hesitantly lifts her gaze to meet his, with a gruff breath he finally takes his leave.

Unclenching her fists that have now turned white from the pressure of her grip against the silk by Sandor's presence in her fitting room, once more she turns and looks at the fabric in the mirror. The dark blue would complement my hair she thinks as she notes the fiery hues standing out against the material.

"Sansa?" The voice reaching out to her is one that Sansa had dreamed of, a voice she hadn't heard in more than two years.

Turning to see a tall handsome man with auburn hair much like her own, shorn and cropped in a military cut, crystal blue eyes matching hers staring as if not believing her identity, "Robb? What are you doing here?"

Smiling she drops the material and reaches out, practically running to him. She sees Sandor press himself against the doorframe, crossing his arms and watching her brother closely with hooded eyes as if not sure of Robb's intentions toward her. But she doesn't care her arms wrapping around him tightly as she presses against him, the air is knocked out of him with the force of her hug but it only encourages her smile to grow.

"Sansa…you look…wow."

Robb hadn't seen Sansa since she left home; she would occasionally call and inform the family on where she was and what she was doing. But he was expecting the gangly and awkward teen who wore his hand-me-down shirts, hair always pulled into a neat tail behind her head. What he found was not his little sister, but a grown woman. Not only was she taller than he'd anticipated, but the form fitting white blouse and tight gray pencil skirt that reached just above her knee gave no illusions to the fact that her body had matured and flourished in their time apart. Her hair was pulled back in a fashionable twist and she has the lightest flecks of makeup on to enhance her already beautiful features.

Blushing Sansa looked down to the floor, her polished black heels suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, "I've…grown a bit since the last time you saw me."

"You look so beautiful Sansa…just like mother." He places his hands on her shoulders, "She really misses you…so does father."

"I miss them too Robb. I miss all of you." Cautiously her eyes sweep over to Sandor.

He smiles lightly, "Even Arya?"

"Yes even Arya…" Sansa giggles thinking of the terrible fighting she'd done with her youngest sibling, the two of them like oil and water, complete opposites that didn't mix well.

"Sansa…don't you think it's time you came home? Father is…he's ill Sansa, and they don't know how long he's going to hold on. I'm here for business, I'm going back on Monday, I can get you a ticket today."

At the mention of leaving Sansa looks sideways toward Sandor, his head is cocked to one side and his mouth lightly parts as he watches them; it's as if he's trying to figure out what she'll chirp for her brother before she voices it, "I miss them too Robb. Especially father. But I—"

The thought enters her mind. What if she would leave with him? What if she went with the small savings she'd been able to accumulate and bought a train ticket, what is she went home? Leaving the Lion Lounge would mean no more beatings, no more fitful nights wondering if it would be the night Joffrey would take his advances to far, no more stares from Meryn and Boros as they taunted her when Joffrey would throw her about like a doll, no more snarls from Sandor, no more fear.

But she shakes her head, even if she wanted to Joffrey would never let her leave. As much as she wanted to argue the fact and tell Sandor that he was completely wrong she couldn't, because she was Joffrey's. His to control, manipulate, his to use as he pleased and he would not just let her go without reprisals. She'd seen him beat men from the club, sometimes because they got too rowdy and he wanted to teach them their place, sometimes he did so that he could laugh at the pitiful pleas for mercy. His favorites were to call on men who owed the club gambling debts, he made her go with him once to "see what happens to lying traitors", because in his mind; if you weren't paying him what he was owed you were his enemy. Joffrey had Meryn and Boros hold the man on his knees while he taunted him, pulling out a knife and rubbing it along the man's neck.

Sansa had began crying after Joffrey started hitting the man, the pained recollection of those fists against her own stomach and ribs too hard for her to watch so she closed her eyes and cowered away. But that displeased Joffrey, he instructed Sandor to smack her for her insolence but he refused, instead Meryn did it. After that she watched the entire display, until the man was well beyond unconscious and Joffrey had finally worn himself out. They drove back to her apartment and he told her again, that's what happens to traitors before kissing her goodnight.

Perfect strangers were beaten near to death either by his hand or one of his men's, what would they do to her if she tried to leave?

Tears are forming in her eyes at the taste of freedom turning to ash with the reality of her situation, "I can't leave Robb, this is my home now. I belong here."

Stepping back from him Sansa wraps her arms around her body, as if the act would shield her from the disappointment that wafts from him as he stares in disbelief.

"Sansa father—"

"I know Robb! But I have a life here, responsibilities, I have a bo—manager. I can't just pick up and take off now. I will call father…besides, I'm sure after all I've done I'm the last person he'll want to see on his deathbed."

Shamed at the admission she glances over at Sandor thinking she'll find him grinning at her confession; instead he's just staring at her, the same passive and unidentifiable expression clouding his face.

"Sansa, you know that he would never think ill of you…" Sighing Robb just approaches her and gives her another hug. This time he allows it to linger.

"If you aren't going to come with me the least you could do is call him. He misses you. Goodbye Sansa."

"Bye Robb." She placed a soft kiss to his cheek before he turned his back to her and left.

The tears finally broke once he'd passed through the door frame, silent sobs wracked her body as she turned and fell to the floor.

"Little Bird…" His voice doesn't hold its usual contempt as he approaches her.

She can feel him behind her but the sympathy she would have craved months ago only provokes her further into her shell, no one cared about her before why would he now.

"Please…just leave me alone."

Hours passed before Sansa was able to compose herself enough to leave her room, the seamstress had come but gone the instant she saw the young woman's tears. It wasn't until Boros came and grabbed her from her spot on the floor that Sansa realized the time that had gone by, hurriedly she wipes at her tear-stained face hoping to remove all remnants as she was drug to Joffrey. She didn't know why she was being taken to him, or why Boros was gripping her arm so tightly as he pulled her. She stumbled in her heels to keep up with the pace he's set.

"Ahh Sansa, so good of you to join us!" Joffrey is sitting behind his desk, hands resting precariously on the arms of his leather chair as he watches her being dragged into the spacious office.

Boros' hand didn't relinquish the hard grip even as she stood directly in front of the dark oak of Joffrey's desk.

Meryn stood next to Joffrey, when Sansa looked upon the blonde man she could see anger behind the glint of his smiling face and her heart sank even further trying to quickly think of what she possibly could have done to anger him this time.

"Boros and Meryn informed me that you had a caller today, a male caller. Would you care to explain this to me Sansa?"

"He was...my brother."

"Brother? Do you really think I'm so stupid, if you had a brother why have I not heard of him till now? Boros."

At the address Boros turns Sansa and roughly throws his fist into the already bruised and tender muscles of her stomach. Coiling into herself at the impact Sansa covers her mouth to keep the scream of pain from escaping; Joffrey hated it when she cried.

"Now Sansa, are you going to keep lying to me?"

"I swear! It was my brother Robb, he came because my father's ill, and he wanted me to come home with him! But I told him that I couldn't!"

"Liar!" He practically screams as he stands and glares at her.

"Why would you not tell me you had a brother? No, come sweet Sansa, why do you always have to be so difficult? Just admit that you were trying to seduce him and this will be so much easier on you, you stupid girl. Why do you always have to be so stubborn!"

"But—It was my brother…I wasn't…"

"YOU'RE LYING!" The spit from his fury landed across his desk as he threw his fist against the wood. Sansa jumped at his reaction and began to shake from fear; there was no reasoning with him at this point.

Sighing with unsteady breath Sansa simply shakes her head up and down lightly, "You're right Joffrey…I was trying to seduce him."

Pleased at her declaration of guilt Joffrey smiles before sitting back down in his chair, resuming his relaxed position, "Well if you want to act like a whore, we'll just have to treat you like one, won't we? Boros…the lady is wearing too many clothes, unburden her…and remember…"

Sansa stares up at him in horror as the words melt from his mouth, "Keep her face pretty."

Boros' hand pulls her up by her shoulders roughly as the other goes to the top of her blouse, ripping down with force so great she cries out at the friction it cause against her neck. White buttons fly in all directions as they're ripped from their stitches. His hand has caught her undershift and one of the straps is torn with his violence, the slight of his fingernails biting harshly into the skin above her breasts.

The air is cold and causes bumps to rise on her skin as she silently cries while Boros treads behind her and pulls the tattered cotton from her back, the front of her blush silk undergarment exposed to their stares. Bringing her hands to cover her chest, Sansa cries out in anguish when she feels his hand grab the back of the pale pink slip while the other braces against her shoulder to keep her in place.

"Boros, stop this! Joffrey, what the FUCK do you think you're doing?!"

Turning Sansa sees Tyrion walking into the office, Sandor in tow behind him. If it weren't for the pain in her stomach and fear in her heart Sansa might have laughed at the sight, the giant follow the dwarf, like some sort of lost puppy; no, not a puppy Sansa remembers, a Hound.

"I was punishing Sansa for her indiscretions against our relationship Uncle."

"The hell you are…" Turning and looking up into her crying face Tyrion asks, "Are you alright Ms. Stark?"

Nodding her head Sansa pulls her arms tighter against her chest.

"One of you give her something to cover herself…" Sansa heard movement behind her and felt calloused hands graze her shoulders as heavy material is draped over her. Jumping at the slight touch she turns to see Sandor placing his jacket on her, she gathers the material in her hands and pulls it tightly against her, dropping her head against the fabric. Breathing deeply she notices that the jacket smells earthy and of musk, and she decides then that she likes that smell.

"This is none of your concern Tyrion! She was trying to cheat on me! She had a man come to her fitting room without consulting with me prior; she must be punished for her actions!" Joffrey is standing now, his glare menacing against his uncle.

"From what the Dog has informed me Ms. Stark had received a visit from her brother. Something about a sick parent wishing to glance upon his beloved daughter before his passing, where on earth would you get any idea other than that? Did you not ask Sansa who it was that called on her before you had her stripped and beaten?"

"Meryn and Boros saw him…they…"

"Wouldn't know their asses from a hole in the ground you stupid twit!"

"You can't talk to me that way! I'll..I'll…" Joffrey was shaking with anger by now, his face has turned a multitude of red hues and he struggles to think of an adequate threat.

"You'll what Joffrey? Run and tell your mummy that I've upset you? Dog, take Ms. Stark back to her apartment, she must be exhausted and we can't have our star looking any less than refreshed for tomorrow's performance."

Sansa wants to thank him, hug him and kiss his cheek; instead she just looks down and walks out of the room as best she could with the ache in her mid-section. Sandor follows without a word.

The lights of the stage are blinding, and the heat radiating from them feels an unwelcomed guest against the cold that had settled into her skin. Music begins to play from the side stage and Sansa doesn't even think as the words begin to flow from her to caress the waiting audience.

_You don't know what love is  
Until you've learned the meaning of the blues  
Until you've loved a love you've had to lose  
You don't know what love is_

She sits in the back of Joffrey's car as Sandor winds along the busy streets, the drive to her apartment is short and thankfully void of conversation. Sansa sits wrapped in his coat in the backseat, trying to keep the tears from flowing again until she is in the privacy of her locked apartment doors. The dark streets are illuminated by gas lights and the gently glow from in the surrounding buildings.

When the car pulls in front of her building she gets out and begins to walk hurriedly toward the entrance, only to be pulled back by rough calloused hands.

"Just a minute Little Bird." Looking up at him her eyes are scared, he can tell that she thinks he's going to hit her; the wide bloodshot eyes and trembling lower lip enough for him to know how truly scared she actually is.

_You don't know how lips hurt  
Until you've kissed and had to pay the cost  
Until you've flipped your heart and you have lost  
You don't know what love is_

"I'm to escort you to your room." She waits for him to walk in front of her, the doorman giving them a tip of his hat as they pass.

To anyone else it just looked as if Sansa were being treated by a gentleman, walking her up to her room safely, offering her coat to stave off the chill of late September air. If only they knew, she thought, if only they could see me in my torn shift and tattered cotton blouse.

He pulls a key from the pocket of his trousers and opens the locked door to her room, of course he had a key; Joffrey had gotten her the apartment, they probably all had keys. The thought sent a tremor through her at the thought of what they might do with that key one day.

She stood staring at the door, even after it was pushed open and he ducked through the doorway; she just stared at it, thinking of how caged she was. How she had no where safe to flee from them.

"Little Bird? Are you coming in or are you going to stand in the fucking hall all night?"

_Do you know how a lost heart fears  
The thought of reminiscing?  
And how lips that taste of tears  
Lose their taste for kissing_

She slides the jacket off slowly once she's hidden behind the walls of her apartment, "Thank you, I know you got Tyrion to come…it was very kind of you."

"Save your thanks and kindness…a dog doesn't need them to deal with rats, I was protecting the clubs investment in you, nothing more."

Squaring her shoulders to him Sansa stares up at him, her jaw tightening as she holds the torn front of her shift up, "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

"No…" He stalks toward her, "It gives me joy to kill people."

She backs away in fear at his words, "Oh don't pretend to be so naïve, I know you're not stupid enough to not know who I am by now. A thug for hire, and let me tell you there's no sweeter feeling than the thrill it gives me! Every man loves the power he gets from dominating another person."

"Not all men…there are good men out there." Sansa defends.

"Is that what you really think? Power is the sweetest thing in the world, any man who says it isn't is a liar."

"No…you're the liar." She looks away from him.

"Am I Little Bird? Look at ME!" He screams at her, his hands coming up to grasp at her shoulders.

Startled, Sansa looks up at him with wide eyes, he smiles at her quick response, "See…it's people like you that give me the power, weak. I take joy as I watch people bury themselves, the way you're doing with the Lannisters. Singing their pretty songs for them, chirping the dutiful words of loyalty they've beaten into you. You're nothing but a puppet, and their pullin' the strings until they've had their fill of you…Or until Joffrey's done fucking you at least."

"Why are you always so hateful?"

"You'll be glad of the hateful things I do some day when you're Joffrey's bitch and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved….you'd better get some ointment on these…don't want the pretty Little Bird to have damaged feathers." His hand comes up and his finger barely grazes one of the cuts she'd previously forgotten about.

His proximity to her, the feel of him near her breast, she knew that he was trying to scare her, intimidate her, but the stirring in the pit of her stomach isn't from fear. Far from it, instead she feels a spark of something deep inside her that scares her even more than she ever thought. She felt excited by his touch, she wanted it to linger, travel further down…she gasped and pulled away from him. Turning before he could see the blush spread. He chuckles and she can tell that he thinks he's won.

"Do you enjoy touching me Sandor?" The words come out before she has the chance to stop them, she doesn't like the boldness in her voice; but something deep inside her wants to prove to him that she isn't weak.

"Do you like it when Joffrey makes me take my clothes off when you're there?" She turns and stares up at him, his mouth curled into a snarl.

"Do you wish it was your own hands touching me?"

"Shut the fuck up, you don't know what kind of fire you're playing with little girl. If Joffrey hears you talking like that he'll do a lot more than touch you stupid Little Bird."

_You don't know how hearts yearn  
For love that cannot live yet never dies  
Until you've faced each dawn with sleepless eyes  
You don't know what love is_

Joffrey watches from his booth, she stares at him as he takes another deep gulp of amber liquid. The smirk on his face as he watches her is almost a sneer, but she barely notices, she's not searching for his face; rather the scarred one with the unreadable eyes.

Sandor can feel her eyes on him and they lock gazes as she continues to croon, the sultry sweetness of her voice drowning out all other sounds as she sways her body to the music. The dark blue of her dress hugging tightly to the slight curve of her hips, he notices she's wearing long satin gloves to match 'probably to cover the bruises on her arms' he realizes. Her hair is down and waves over her slender back, and she her hands go from the microphone stand to gently caress up her body he stares. Watches as she finally breaks their gaze to close her eyes and lean her back exposing her long milky neck as her gloved hands cup over her slight breasts.

_You don't know how hearts yearn  
For love that cannot live yet never dies  
Until you've faced each dawn with sleepless eyes  
You don't know what love is_

_What love is_

When the song ends she turns her back to reveal the slightest hint of skin that her hair doesn't cover in the low-back silk, her hips swaying from side to side with each step, her perfect round bottom accentuated beautifully in the gown.

'Perhaps the Little Bird isn't as weak as I thought' Sandor thinks to himself before turning and walking to the bar to get Joffrey another drink.

* * *

** watch?v=jg62TFpdRrQ - this is the song Sansa sings, all rights belong to the artists.** **As do all characters belong to George RR Martin. Thank you.**


	3. Why Do You Stay

This time it was a black dress, the first time she'd worn the color he had told her that she looked beautiful in it so Sansa thought it would be a safe choice. Lately he had been more aggressive with her shouting at her for sneezing too loudly, smacking her when she didn't respond to him quick enough, he even was beginning to get aggravated by her clothing choices; she would ask him each morning if her outfit was ok and each morning he would tell her what was wrong with her appearance.

She was lying on the floor of his apartment. When she first came into the room he grew unnervingly quiet; after her performance she was taken by Meryn to her fitting room. He told her that she needed to change before she went to see Joffrey, not offering her the decency of turning away when she took off the white gown she'd been wearing.

"Make sure you find something real pretty pet, Joffrey has something special in store for you tonight."

The words echo in her mind, terror driving through her at their implication.

She chose a black dress of worsted fabric with a sleeve and sweetheart neckline, it fell to her knee and hugged the shape of her body giving accentuating her curves with an ivory lace belt that tied in the back. The back is a low-cut square back with two thick straps that cross into an X over her back and button into place. It was simple, but the shape it gave her combined with the low back and moderately low neckline should be enough to satisfy she thinks.

Meryn snaps at her to hurry up as she bends to tie her black leather oxfords, though she can feel his eyes roving her body as she bends to loop the ties.

When she got to the immense apartment Joffrey resided in she tried to hang back as much as possible, avoiding entering the dreaded place, but Meryn's presence behind her pushed her toward the inevitable. Joffrey was in his study, his jacket off and the when she entered her was walking toward his desk chair rolling the long sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt up to his elbows.

"I thought Meryn told you to wear something pretty. You look like a whore in that dress."

She stared at him for a moment before glancing down at herself, "but…I thought you liked it when I wore black?"

"And what would give you that idea?" He stalks toward her, his mouth setting in a grimace as he stares at her in wait.

"You said…"

Before she could finish the back of his hand came up, violently crashing into the swell of her cheek. The blow was hard enough to knock her off balance but she managed to catch herself against one of the leather lounge chairs. She looked up at him in shock; he had broken his own rule.

"I was going to take you out for a nice evening, but I can't be seen with you in public looking like a common whore!" Another blow comes across her cheek.

This time to force of it is enough to send her toppling to the ground. Tears well in the corners of her eyes and there is nothing she is able to do to stop them from falling as she raises her hands to block against another blow, this time catching the brunt of his fist with the outside of her arm.

"I—I'm sorry Joffrey…please?!" She tries to beg with him, plead for mercy to end the assault.

Instead of halting his foot came out to kick her ribs as she tried to curl into herself. Meryn and Boros came in, standing to the side waiting for Joffrey to invite them to participate. He furiously kicks out at her two, three, four times…she rolls onto her stomach and knees, managing to aim his blows more toward her back until he wears himself down.

She lies there, silently praying that it will all be over. When she sees Joffrey walking toward his desk she takes the opportunity to slowly raise herself from the floor. Every muscle in her body aches with the strain and she bites her lip to keep the whimpers of pain contained, when she's standing on unsteady feet she watches and waits. Meryn and Boros have walked to Joffrey and are talking to him now; they occasionally look over at her, their eyes glittering at whatever he is saying to them. The next time she looks she takes a deep breath, and she counts 1, 2, 3…and then she runs.

Her heart pounds in her chest as she rushes out of the door, her body screams at her to stop, her lungs burn at the exertion. But she knows she can't stay, she knows whatever he has planned will only lead to more pain and she can't fathom the idea of it. They're calling out after her, their heavy footfalls echoing behind her but she only presses her body harder.

The front door opens with a creak and she slams it shut before throwing herself toward the fire escape, they won't follow her out onto the street; Cersei would be more than angry if Joffrey or his men caused a scene in front of the family hotel. Too many people knew who she was, and who they were, the Lannister's would rather wait until she inevitably returned to them to punish her Sansa knew. And while she was sure she would regret it, the cool night air that greeted her when she pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs felt like the freshest breath she'd ever taken.

Looking around at the few people who noticed her abrupt arrival on the street Sansa immediately felt self conscious and stupid for her haste. She'd dressed in nothing but the simple satin dress and the bite of the evening air bit into her exposed flesh, the low back she was sure would show the bruises from her assault, but at the moment she didn't care. If people recognized her let them make assumptions as to the cause of her injuries. She lifted her hand to her now swelling cheek and smoothed her fingertips across her mouth wincing as she realized it had been split in the lower left corner. Hanging her head she hails a taxi, glancing behind her as she enters to make sure that she was indeed not followed.

"Where to Miss?" the driver turns to look at her.

Sansa stares at him, where to? Where could she go? Joffrey had to have a key to her apartment and no doubt would either show himself or send Meryn or Boros to collect her, she would go back to the diner, but if she weren't at her apartment that would be the only other place to look for her, the only other place she knew enough to seek comfort in. Then she remembered an address, only the street name, but she would remember the building. She'd driven there with Joffrey once, and she was sure she could remember.

Blinking at the cabbie she mutters, "Westeros Lane, please."

"Do you have a street number?"

"No, I—I've forgotten it. I'll recognize the building though."

The man eyes her wearily before nodding and turning back in his seat, Sansa watches as the car begins to move. She turns to look outside Joffrey's building once more, sighing in relief when she doesn't see Meryn or Boros.

It couldn't be more than a 15 minute drive and when the car pulls to the side of the road in the center of the empty street he turns once more, eyeing her.

"Are you sure this is the street you want Miss?"

She looks out the window and takes in the less than kempt buildings that surround here. Men and woman are walking the streets, but unlike the nightlife suits and silk dresses she was used to these were manual worker dressed in varying uniforms or simple slacks and cotton shirts or dresses. Scanning the unmanned buildings she doesn't recognize the one she wants, it had red curtains in the lobby, and a stone walk with green letters over the door….Turning and moving more toward the center of the car she scans the other side of the street.

Then she spotted it, they were only parked a few buildings down, "There it is! That's the building."

"The Edgemont? The one with the stone steps?" He turns looking at her once more.

"Yes, my—my friend lives there."

"Well…best be careful with that friend of yours. This isn't a good neighborhood and that isn't a reputable place for a lady like you."

"I will be alright…how much do I owe you?"

"The ride was on the house; just take care of yourself Miss."

Sansa's mouth opens and her face scrunches as she processes the man's kindness, it's been far too long since she's seen the gesture she isn't sure she can believe its real, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Giving her a small smile he turns back and waits for her to exit the cab.

When she does she gives him a small wave as he pulls away, breathing in she wraps her arms around herself to try and minimize the chill through her bones as she walks to The Edgemont. The steps are slightly damaged and she is careful to keep from tripping over the cracks in the stone, heart thrumming wildly as she steps into the dimly lit lobby of the building.

Walking to the attendant sitting behind the front desk she asks for the man she's seeking, praying that she remembered the building correctly, that she wouldn't have to go out in the cold again. Without looking up from his paper the old man attending informs her the room she seeks and tells her it's on the 5th floor and pointed her toward the stairs, 'elevators broken' he followed with; still not lifting his eyes from the paper.

The climb is hard on her tense muscles, and the pounding of her heart echoes so loudly in her ears she's sure the entirety of the complex can hear it before she steps onto the landing and pushes through the door to the 5th floor.

E9…E9, looking for the door with the little gold combination that she was look for Sansa's pace quickens once she sees it, the last door on the left, she's in front of it before she realizes and suddenly she panics. What if he turns me away? What is he makes me go back to Joffrey?

She knocks without thinking, the what if's still running through her head as she hears movement on the other side of the door, she puts her head down, nervous and terrified at what she's brought herself to. Regret at having come here washes over her, she knows that he doesn't care for her, she just knows that he's going to throw her out.

When the door swings open she looks up with wide eyes as she stares into his face, he looks shocked and confused all at once as he rasps out, "What the fuck?"

"Sandor…I—"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He hisses as he presses into the hallway, checking down the hall to see if there is anyone with her.

"I—I ran from Joffrey's apartment and got in a cab…I didn't know where else to go, he has a key to my apartment." She looks up at him and it's then that he actually looks beyond the flaming auburn hair and porcelain skin that first identified her to him.

He takes in her red and swelled cheek, the puffiness of the crystal blue eyes she tried to keep from dropping salty tears, the split in her bottom lip and Sandor curses under his breath. His scrutiny against her causing new pain to show on her delicate face, more tears pressing to the inner corners of her eyes that Sansa promptly wipes away with a furiously embarrassed brush of her hand. She can't look up at him, the humility of her state too much to take.

Sandor only turns and re-enters his apartment giving her a gruff admission before closing the door behind her.

"How did you get here?" He as he leads her through an entrance hall to a large open room, his living room she notes.

The room is tidy and furnished with simple and typical furniture, unlike the grandeur of Joffrey's apartment. A few books rest in a small bookshelf next to a large lounge chair. She takes in the new surroundings as she answers him, "I remember picking you up with Joffrey one time, I remembered the street address."

He continues walking through the living room and Sansa follows noticing a hall leading to what she can assume to be his bedroom and other extensions of the apartment on the other side of the living room. He takes her through a doorway and she realizes she's in his kitchen, empty beer bottles on a small table near the ice box shake with the weight of his footfalls in the small space.

"Sit." The command is gentle, but still stern as he points to one of the chairs.

Sansa does as she's told, sitting with her back to him as she fidgets with her hands as noises of the icebox opening and closing reach her ears. She wonders what he's doing but when a cold cloth is placed against her bruised cheek, she winces at the sudden contact.

"Hold it." He says before relinquishing the dish towel filled with ice over to her.

He moves behind her once more and she hears the faucet running, she turns to look at him and notices he's wetting another cloth. Unlike the black suit he normally dons when she sees him he is wearing a plain white undershirt and tan slacks, the muscles in his arms and back rippling with his every move. Black socks cover his feet. Looking over at her he shakes his head before turning the water off and coming toward her once more, grabbing the chair opposite her he swings it until it's facing her. When he sits down he grabs her chin and lifts it, dabbing softly at the cut on her lip.

The softness of his touch is light but still burns as he presses into the cut to clean it, Sansa pulls back frightened at the pain that shoots through her face once more.

"did Meryn do that?" He asks leaning forward to grab her face again placing the wet material to her mouth.

She shakes her head and stares into his brown eyes, she'd never before noticed how gentle they seemed.

"Boros?" When she again shakes her head again he knows, "Why?"

"He didn't like my dress."

"He didn't like your dress?! You mean to tell me the little fucker did all this just because of what you were wearing?!" He shouts at her and Sansa quakes at the sound, trembling at the thought that he might turn his anger into physical violence the way Joffrey had.

"Shit Sansa…" He grabs her face and forces her to look at him, "Is your face all he hit?"

"No, he—he kicked me…in the stomach and back."

Sandor stands and directs her to follow him, reluctantly at first Sansa lifts herself with weary muscles and walks back into the living room expecting that now he'd cleaned her up Sandor was going to send her on her way. But when he took the left toward the back of the apartment she stopped in her tracks, what was he planning to do with her?

When he notices that she's halted behind him Sandor turns and looks at her, the scarred part of his face hidden from her view, "If you can't go home tonight, guess you got nowhere else to stay then?"

She doesn't answer, too embarrassed at her own pitiful circumstances that she can't bear to hear the taunts that he's sure to throw her way.

"Aye, that's what I thought. Come on Little Bird."

Hesitantly she walks behind him; a bathroom is on the left she can barely see the sink from the partially opened door, when he disappears behind a door on the right she walks in. Her eyes scan the room and she sees that it's a bedroom, the large unmade bed is in the center of the wall, varying clothing items litter the floor and dresser as well as a small chair set in the corner. This is more like the Sandor she knows.

"Here." He's standing at the dresser and without turning toward her he throws a white undershirt at her.

"what—"

"Can't imagine that would be too comfortable to sleep in, I'll be on the couch if you need anything."

"Wait, what?"

"Are you really that daft girl, you put that shirt on and get into MY bed while I go and lay on the couch."

"Why aren't you kicking me out?"

He glares over at her, watching for a moment to see if she would actually stand his stare, when she actually manages to hold it he can see the tremble in her. Sighing, he only shakes his head, "Because you've nowhere else to go. And as much as you'd like to think it I'm not that much a monster that I'd turn out a battered girl into the New York streets at this time of night. Now go to sleep."

Trying to push past her as she processes his words Sandor is surprised when her hands wrap around his wrist. Looking down at her grip on his wrist then up to her face he stares at her face. The mark on her face is going to bruise by morning and Sandor thinks what a pity the sight will look, tainting the pure porcelain of her skin. Since the night she sang and unabashedly stared at him Sandor couldn't help but take more notice to the girl, he'd thought her pretty when Joffrey first started with her but now, now he could barely contain himself from becoming aroused when she would slink on stage in her form fitting silk gowns. Her perfectly waved hair and makeup only adding to make the young woman look well past her years, the beauty of her undeniable.

"Little Bird…"

Sansa leaned up, having to stand on her toes to reach him, but the hand not holding him in place reaches up and gently grabs the back of his head. With the leverage she's able to gain and the minor stoop of his neck with the guidance of her hand behind his head Sansa's lips gently land on the marred corner of his mouth.

"Thank you Sandor."

Nodding his head, Sansa releases her hold on him as Sandor walks out hastily and for a moment she doesn't believe that she actually kissed him. The boldness of the action toward the hard man something so far beyond the realm of anything she would have ever typically considered doing, but there was something in the way he'd been looking at her. Maybe it was the sympathy that he was finally showing her, or the tenderness with which he was treating her coupled with the need to feel anything but the need to feel wanted; perhaps it was the stirring in her stomach that she got whenever he would be near her, the unspoken want she'd been feeling toward him even when he wasn't around.

The shirt was so large it fell to mid-thigh on Sansa, the longness of her legs preventing the material from covering more even though it billowed around her. Climbing into the soft large bed she smiled as she nuzzled her nose into the pillow. It smelled of Sandor, and it was warm in here. She rolls back and forth until she's able to get into a comfortable position that doesn't put much pressure on the sore places where Joffrey's kicks had landed.

Sandor couldn't sleep, and after what felt like hours he stood from his place on the couch. It wasn't that it was uncomfortable. But he was a large man and his legs hung over the edge of the couch, his broad shoulders barely fitting along the width of the cushions. Sansa had looked awful when he opened the door and found her; he told himself that his feet were carrying him to the bedroom just so he could look in to make sure she was alright.

The heavy wood thankfully didn't creak as he opened the door, holding his breath when he leaned his head into the darkened room. Light streamed in from the streets through the sheer material of the curtains illuminating her body in front of him.

She's pulled the blankets up around her and is lying on her back, one hand resting on her stomach while the other is lifted over her head. He can see from the way one of her legs was flipped over the blankets and the crumpled state of them that she'd been moving around quite a lot. 'Little Bird probably having bad dreams' he thinks. Bruises in varying states of healing speckle above her knee, the milky paleness of her slender thigh marred almost as hideously as his scarred face, "Why do you stay with him Little Bird?"

Turning to keep himself from seeing anymore of her exposed flesh he returns to his place on the couch.

When the sound of the door closing reaches her ears Sansa turns to look at it, imaging his frame in the doorway once more.


	4. Chapter 4: Why Don't You Do Right Part I

After that night it became habitual for the two. She would show up at his door in the middle of the night, he would help her clean up any injuries she sustained at the hands of Joffrey or one of his other thugs.

When she first went back to Joffrey he slapped her for running away from him, but after some gentle kisses and lied apologies she was able to temporarily avoid his wrath. But like the setting of the sun she knew it was inevitable, she knew that he was going to lash out again. And when he did, she sought solace in the one man, that against all preconceived notions, she found security in. It wasn't every night, it wasn't even every week; but in 3 months she'd gone to him 10 times and each time they begin to unravel one another more and more.

It's been a particularly vicious dealing that brought her to him this night. Joffrey didn't necessarily have anything specific that drove him toward the anger that she received but when had that ever stopped him before? Sansa wasn't sure why he was approaching her after she got done with her performance, usually he sent for her, but when she felt the sting of his hand against her cheek she understood. Like a petulant child he got jealous because when she walked through the tables as she sang she did not go to his, meaning that she was trying to seduce the other men in his mind. But other than the slap this attack was not a physical one, instead he yelled at her. Spitting insult after degrading insult until she broke into tears, and when he realized that Sansa was wounded by his words they only became sharper and more provoking.

When he left it was only a matter of minutes for her to change into comfortable slacks and a crisp blouse, pulling her heavy wool jacket on she quickly left the Lion Lounge to hail a taxi. The words rang in her ears over and over again, hateful phrases that refused to let her calm herself during the ride.

He didn't lock his door while he was awake anymore, knowing that she would walk in when she needed him; and with their habits now well established he didn't even flinch when the door was carefully opened and closed. Sitting on the couch reading the evening paper he barely looked up when Sansa walked to him, seating herself on the chair across from him.

Folding the newspaper down slowly his eyes peer over to her, waiting for her to reveal the reason for this particular visit; after the first few instances he realized it was best to let her take her time, and it never failed that she would explain it to him when she was ready.

Her face is pale as they stare at each other, he can see the tears glistening in the dim light while he can also see the inner turmoil boil inside her as she tries to suppress them. When she closes her eyes to take a few deep calming breaths he takes the opportunity to examine all visible flesh, checking for marks of physical violence, sighing softly in relief when he can see no new bruises Sandor begins to wonder the reason for the tears.

"When I was a little girl I loved to sing…" Sansa's eyes are still closed but she seems calmer, her hands resting gently in her lap fingers lightly twined together.

"My mother hated it, she believed that I was wasting my time practically glued to the radio, she tried to get my father to talk some sense into me; but instead he took me to performances and simply laughed when I would repeat the words I heard. He always told me that if I believed in something hard enough and worked for it, I could be anything that I wanted to be."

Her eyes open with that, and while she seems more relaxed Sandor notices the far off look in her eyes and the clouded haze of recollection across her face as she continues.

"I loved him so much; he was the only one who ever understood how much singing meant to me…how much it broke my heart when my mother would tell me I never would get anywhere. A few days before my 15th birthday my mother and I got into a huge fight. She told me that I was wasting my life with my dreams, we yelled at one another and in our anger we both said things that we didn't mean. When I went to my father for comfort he told me that my mother was right. I felt so betrayed; I didn't understand why he would encourage me all those years and then tell me that it was all just a mistake. He said that I needed to start preparing for a future. That's when I left. I was so angry with them that I didn't feel any sort of remorse, I thought I was going to make it to the city and strike it big and then one day return and say 'Look at me now, I did it all on my own when none of you believed in me'. But….but they were right. At first I was too embarrassed to tell them that, I was too proud to admit it and return home, so I stayed and when my money ran out I started working at the Diner."

Tears now fall down her smooth cheeks, and she doesn't wipe them away; it's as if she doesn't realize they are there, "For so long I've regretted my actions, but now it doesn't matter. I'll never be able to leave. Joffrey will kill me before letting me go home; I'll never be able to tell my father how sorry I am."

Sandor could understand how the girl felt, it had been a long time since he'd thought on it, on her, but he understood Sansa's guilt. He knew what it felt like to let your family down and never get the chance to rectify it, and his heart now broke for the already defeated Sansa Stark. She was so young, yet already had been witness to the darkness of humanity and Sandor grew angry at himself for not having protected her better, protecting her the way he should have protected…'She's too beautiful to be caged by those fucking Lannisters'.

Standing, he carefully approaches her and kneels in front of her, though with his height he comes almost eye to eye with her.

"Sansa…your father loves you. And he knows that you love him as well." He cups her cheek, gently forcing her to look at him.

"He would be so proud of you."

"No he wouldn't….I'm nothing but a whore with expensive clothes." Joffrey's words echo through her mind causing her to shudder as she once more closes her eyes.

"Who told you that? That little shit Joffrey?"

"What does it matter Sandor, it's the truth isn't it? I get up there every night and sway and rub myself while wearing pretty dresses with my face painted and my hair curled, I'm a stupid little girl who has nothing to offer but myself and I can't even do that properly!"

"Don't say that, don't you dare fucking say that! You're beautiful and sweet and kind, and so, so much stronger than you let yourself believe! You put up with so much abuse that any woman I've ever known would have folded, but you stand and face it every day. You don't deserve the life they've forced you to conform to but it doesn't mean that you're a whore because you've adapted to survive!"

Her eyes search his face, the outburst and emotion with which he spoke shocked her, "You don't have to lie to make me feel better Sandor, you hate liars."

"Then it's a good thing I've only spoken the truth, isn't it?"

Their eyes connect again and he notices that the tears have left hers, and now she's just staring at him like a scared child watching a lion at the zoo. She is afraid yet thrilled, and the more she looks into his soft warms eyes the more confused she becomes. Tentatively her hands come up to his face, shaking slightly as they hover momentarily over his skin. The silence is marred by the rushing of blood in her ears, her heart hammering in the confines of her chest.

One hand touches soft warmness, the other smooth yet rough scars and heat. This time it's Sandor who breathes in sharply, and closes his eyes at the cool touch of her hands on him; he can feel her shifting and the hand he had cupped around her jaw moves toward him as she leans in.

The connection of her lips is so light Sandor opens his eyes to check and make sure she's actually kissing him. Her eyes are closed, but the tension in her shoulders tells him that she is uncertain with her actions, his hand moves from her face over her ear to tangle in her hair as he carefully presses more insistently against her mouth, his other hand wrapping around to caress her covered back.

'If this is the only chance I ever get to do this, I'm damn well going to make the best of it!' he thinks.

Her fingers move to his hair and tighten in his dark locks as Sandor moves forward on his knees, pushing between her now spread legs that press tightly against his sides. A soft whimper escapes her mouth as his tongue laps out to beg entrance into her own, and when she parts her lips slightly and feels him claim her mouth Sansa arches into him. Heat begins to stir inside of him as they meld together, the feel of her against him is intoxicating and like a drug he wants more of it.

With gentle pressure he starts to pull her toward him, inch by inch until she's sliding off the chair to kneel against him; their groins incidentally touching as she slides down his body. The guttural moan that slips from him seems to hang in the air, and break them out of the spell they'd weaved.

Breathing heavily eyes glazed with lust open, he leans his forehead down against hers, and silently he waits for her to push him away. But when she leans into him once more pressing her body flush with his, he smiles as he once more attaches their lips. Her arms around his pull him tighter and in the haze of the moment Sandor feels himself leaning down, over her until she's writhing under him on the floor; her legs wrapping around his waist as he hovers over her.

So lost in the ecstasy of her his mind begins to think about all the times he'd watched her perform. The way she would sway her hips as she crooned, much like she's doing now pinned under him; the way her gaze would fall on him. The innocence in her, the thought of how untainted and true she was and why that intoxicated him so much, and suddenly Sandor began to feel differently.

He had dreamed of this moment for so long, of having her pining and undulating under him as he devoured her, but in his dreams it wasn't because she had come to him in the middle of the night after being broken by Joffrey Lannister. In his dreams she was giving herself to him out of lust, out of love, not because she was vulnerable and he took advantage.

Pulling away from her he looks down at her tender swollen lips, the flush of her face making her even more beautiful in his eyes, especially knowing he's the one who put it there. Reluctantly he lifts off of her and pulls himself up, running his hands through his now mussed hair.

Confused Sansa pulls herself up and approaches him, her hand coming to rest on his back, "Sandor…did, did I do something wrong?"

Laughing lightly Sandor turns to look at her, sadness in his eyes, "No Little Bird…you've done nothing wrong. I just…I just can't do this. I'm sorry that I've let it go this far."

He tries to walk away from her, tries to walk out of the apartment as the sudden urge for a stiff drink overwhelms him. He needs to forget this, needs to forget the ache in his loins and the feel of her pressing against him, lips devouring his. He needs to escape the hurt look that takes over her face after he says that he can't continue but as he tries her small hand wraps around his wrist.

"Sandor…why? I thought that this was what you wanted, I mean; don't you want me?"

"This was a mistake Sansa. You're little more than a child, you should be with someone who can treat you right not someone old dog who'll just end up hurting you."

"I'm not a child! And I know you want this, well I'm here, and I want you to Sandor." She tries to press against him once more but her pushes her away, more forcefully than intended and instantly he regrets it as the pain crosses her face. But if hurting her now keeps him from hurting her, or having her hurt, later than it's what he has to do to keep her safe.

"Why can't you just admit it? Why can't you just do right?"

"Do 'right?" He practically spits the word to keep from crying, "You are a child Sansa, and you're even more naïve than I gave you credit for if you think I want you for anything more than just a night tight fuck."

The slap sounds throughout the entire room and if it weren't for the fact that she seemed to have hurt her hand in the attempt at hurting him Sandor would have laughed at her actions. Instead he just stares at her, before turning and storming out of the apartment. The last thing he hears from her is the pain filled sob that comes from the other side of the door as he makes his way into the hallway.

"I'm sorry Little Bird."

_You had plenty money, 1922  
You let other women make a fool of you  
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?  
Get out of here and get me some money too_

You're sittin' there and wonderin' what it's all about  
You ain't got no money, they will put you out  
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?  
Get out of here and get me some money too

When he returned to his apartment some hours later she was gone. The alcohol had numbed him for a while, but the hurt in her eyes when he denied her and lied to her had broken through the alcoholic stupor. Of course he wanted her, but not like that; hearing her say she wanted him had clenched his heart, but he had to be sure it was more than just transference from the emotional abuse Joffrey put her through. Eventually she would get out of the Lannister grip and when she did he didn't want her to regret anything other than them. He couldn't stand to think that she would regret her attraction to him because she had no one else to turn to.

_If you had prepared twenty years ago  
You wouldn't be a-wanderin' from door to door  
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?  
Get out of here and get me some money too_

As she sings the deep roughness of her voice permeates the air. She's dressed in Lannister gold with a low cut neckline and even lower back. Her shining red locks like fire against the gold. Sandor tried to talk to her before her performance, going to her dressing room before Meryn or Boros could reach her.

"Sansa…can we please talk about what happened?"

She had already changed her exposed back to him as she sat at her vanity mirror carefully brushing out the curls in her hair into soft waves. He was tempted to walk up to her and run his hands over the contracting muscles in her back, but he restrained himself.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I only said those things because…damn it Little Bird, I couldn't stand the idea of you thinking I was taking advantage of you when you were so upset."

"Well, thank you for your concern Sandor." Standing she averts her gaze to the floor and tries to walk past him.

"Sansa…" He grabs her wrist and tries to stop her.

"Let go of me Sandor." He voice is soft, yet her conviction is firm, "I'm glad you changed your mind. I would have hated myself if I'd have gone through with, how did you put it 'giving you a nice tight fuck'? I'm sorry that's all you think of me, but as I said, there's nothing more for us to talk about. You've made yourself perfectly clear, and I've been hurt too much by this place to allow myself false hope that there could be more between us."

"Sansa, please!"

But she had already pulled away and unless he wanted to draw attention to them he had to let her go.

_I fell for your jivin' and I took you in  
Now all you got to offer me's a drink of gin  
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?  
Get out of here and get me some money too  
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?  
Like some other men do_


End file.
